Look at how well we annoy each other already.
“Are you working here today?” he asks.
“Nope. Day job calls.”
“Tell whoever’s working that your security system’s getting an upgrade today. And don’t walk to work alone.”
I bite back a snippy answer, mostly because I’m here this early only partially because I’ve been having trouble sleeping since Saturday night.
The other part is that my grandmother called to tell me she’s lonely and worried about my safety in a pirate town and having heartburn over how old my ovaries are getting.
Oh, and also that Nigel told her I’ve been lying to her about the man I’m engaged to, and if I don’t love him enough to tell her his real name, then I shouldn’t be marrying him.
That was a reasonable point which she unfortunately ruined by adding that he probably has sex with barn animals and that you should never trust men who cover their sins with ink on their arms.
Yep. That’s what has my grandmother out of bed and making phone calls before five a.m. her time.
I get it. She’s lonely and worried about who will take care of her as she gets older. It’s been worse since my brother left Two Twigs to work for a different airline, but it feels like it’s worse for other reasons too.
Like she’s not entirely in touch with reality at all sometimes.
I’ve stayed in touch with a couple of her friends as much as I can tolerate to make sure she’s not completely alone—and she’s not, they tell me she has a very active social life—but I’m stuck between wanting to live my own life and worrying she’s right, that I’m the only person who’ll be able to take care of her when she can no longer take care of herself.
It's a hard spot to be in, and between the extra guilt and the dating nonsense she throws at me every time, I just don’t enjoy talking to her much anymore.
So I opted to head here while we were on the phone so I’d have to make an excuse to go when I got here.
And now on top of planning a fake wedding to a man that my family has written off because of his former job and his tattoos, my fake groom is convinced an imaginary treasure is real and that my museum isn’t as safe as the sheriff thinks it is.
“The museum can’t afford—” I start, but I stop when Davis tilts his head.
It’s subtle.
You have to watch this man carefully to notice.
But that little head tilt makes his eyes go even flatter.
Like he’s offended that I’d think he’d order an upgraded security system for anyone and expect them to pay for it themselves.
I suppress a shiver at the idea that a man would spend thousands of dollars even before rush job fees to keep me safe.
This isn’t about me.
It’s about guarding evidence about where his precious treasure is.
Also, the money is nothing to him.
He’s a former famous person.
Probably has plenty of cash to throw around at little projects. Even if he didn’t, we both know with one call to Cooper, an upgraded security system would instantly be funded.
And Cooper’s reachable. He and Waverly aren’t taking their honeymoon until after the holidays, so they’re hanging out up on his mountain.
Not that anyone wants to bother the newlyweds.
But I think Davis would if he needed to.
For me.
